Work Text:
“Can I take your order?” You shift your weight nervously, the wood floor of the cafe creaks underneath you. The man in front of you looks unusually serious, deep purple circles under his light eyes, peeking out from a fringe of black brown hair.
“Tea.” He glances at the menu. “And a turkey sandwich.”
“Right away, sir.” You whirl around and make your way back to the kitchen to put the order in, glancing behind to look at him He’s staring out the window, watching the gentle snow fall.
“He’s staying at the creepy air bnb at the end of Spyglass Lane.” Your coworker, Sasha, elbows you. “Kinda suits him. He already looks a bit like a ghost.”
“Sasha!” You hiss, “He just um, he looks tired.” You start to make his tea, unable to keep from checking in on him, watching him fiddle with his phone, and scoff at the local newspaper. You check the steeping color on his tea and pour it into a dark blue ceramic mug, carrying it on a tray over to him.
“Are you new in town?” You ask politely, setting it in front of him. You notice that despite how often he’s been checking his phone that he hasn't received a single notification.
“Mhm.” He grunts, not returning your warmth. “Just stuck here on vacation.”
“You’re at the air bnb on Spyglass, right?” He just stares at you. “I um, I live over there so if you need anything, feel free to uh, knock on my door. I’m in the little green house, down by the water.” He grunts again noncommittally. You turn to go get his sandwich, a little hurt by the chilly reaction.
“Wait.” He says after a second and you turn around, confused. It looks physically painful for him, but he sighs. “I’m Levi.”
“Y/n.” You offer, he looks down and for a moment you think he’s oogling you, but you realize he’s looking at your nametag.
“I know.”
“Oh.” You give him another courteous smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.
“He’s terrifying,” Sasha says, biting into a roll, “I call dibs on not waiting on him while he’s in town.”
“He seems,” you search for something charitable. “He seems like he’s trying.”
_____
You’re walking home from work at twilight, and the whole world is glowing a soft blue as the sun sets behind clouds. Snow falls lightly around you, catching in your hair and eyelashes, in the crooks of your elbows. You hear him before you see him, hear the tires spinning in the ice. You jog down to the end of the lane, past your house to the Brimwell Estate, knowing exactly what you'll find. Sasha was right about it being creepy, it was an old Victorian mansion, painted deep purple with black accents. The home was out of place in your little New England town, flush against the snow. You can just barely make out the car as you jog towards it, it's black and boxy, some kind of European sports car that had no business on these winter roads.
You arrive just in time to catch Levi swearing violently, raking his hands through his dark hair as he bends down to examine his tires stuck in the snow, apparently having given up revving the engine.
“Hey,” you call, waving to him. “Need a hand?” You watch him consider denying you then sigh deeply in defeat.
“Yes.” He says, shoving his bare hands in his pockets, you catch how red and raw they are from the cold.
“You need gloves,” you breathe, scandalized, “I have a pair you can borrow, if you want to.” Levi shakes his head.
“I’m fine. Fucking car is stuck.” He looks away.
“I can see that.” You crouch down and look at the hole the tire’s dug in the snow. “So um, you can get in the car and try to drive, and I can push-”
“You can drive the car.” He snaps. “I can push.” You fight to keep your skepticism off your face, he’s much shorter than you, and slight at that. He seems convinced though, so you shrug and he opens the car door for you like some regency era gentleman. The engine purrs to life under your palms, you press experimentally on the gas pedal and watch him brace his body against the back of the car, and to your shock, the car scoots immediately forward, as if Levi is able to lift it’s entire weight without great effort. You carefully drive it into the garage, keenly aware that even a scratch on this vehicle might cost you several student loan payments.
Levi looks mostly unchanged, a flush on his cheeks from the cold, but his eyes are grey and emotionless. He doesn't look like he's exerted himself in any great fashion, and you feel a warmth creep up on your cheeks.
“Ugh.” He rubs his eyes. “I suppose if I were,” you watch him hear someone else's words in his mind, have some internal conversation that flashes across his face. He doesn’t attempt to hide his conflict. “I suppose if I were being, a person ,” he grinds down on those last two words clearly repeating someone else, “I would invite you in for a drink.” You laugh lightly.
“Well I don’t say no to free booze.” You offer, and he nods, and just starts walking back to the house. He unlocks and opens the door, stomping his boots off, swearing more.
“I hate this fucking shit.” He snaps. “The snow. It’s supposed to be pastoral but it’s a fucking hazard.”
“Yeah, it’s better than the mud, in my opinion.” You glance around, the house is decorated but unlived in. Despite this, it’s immaculately clean, to the point where you’re afraid to touch any tables or surfaces for fear of leaving footprints.
“The mud?” He asks and you nod.
“Spring is mud season.”
“What?” He furrows his brow. “I thought spring was supposed to be flowers and shit.” You shake your head.
“Not here.”
“Great.” He stomps off to the kitchen with you in tow. You watch him pour two glasses of what looks to be expensive whiskey from an ornate glass bottle, and scoots one to you across the table on a coaster. He doesn’t ask you if you drink whiskey, or if you want ice. He just takes a sip and closes his eyes. You speak.
“What um, brings you to town?”
“Sabbatical.” He grunts. “I work for the government.” You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not a politician,” he cuts off your thoughts with a shudder, “I’m in intelligence.”
“Oh.” You cock your head at him. “Like, military intelligence.” He shrugs, and takes another drink.
“Like I can’t talk about it intelligence.” He says, and a second too late he realizes he’s fully shut down the first conversation he’s had in two weeks since moving here, he grasps for a desperate straw. “How about you?”
“I work at the cafe?” You say, a small amused smile playing on your lips and Levi just barely manages not to smack himself in the forehead. Of course. You met today. At the cafe.
“There’s too much mayonnaise on the turkey sandwich.” He says, searching for things to say to you, for the first time in a long time, he wishes he could schmooze like Erwin, or joke like Hange.
“I don’t actually make the sandwiches,” you say, and to his relief, you laugh, diffusing the tension a little. “So,” you look around. “What made you pick this place?” Levi’s lips twitch downward.
“An old friend inherited it.” He looks out the window. “I suppose, I could call him a mentor. It’s dark but,” he pauses again, you note that he seems to be having trouble choosing the right words. “I don’t hate it yet.”
“You don’t have to fill the silence.” You offer, gesturing towards a window seat where you can watch the snow fall. “If that would be better for you?” He nods. The snow picks up and the two of you sit and watch it blow across the street, sipping your drinks for a full fifteen minutes. You’re thinking about leaving when he offers you a refill.
“You can, I can get you more?” He says, standing and adding to his own drink, feeling intensely awkward but finding that he cant tear his eyes from your curves, from your waist, from that little sliver of skin he can see when you move, where your shirt's come untucked from your pants. You stretch a little, and he gulps the whiskey, keeping his eyes on your face with herculean efforts.
“Any more of that stuff and I’ll be crashing on your couch.” You stand. “I gotta get home.” He nods, and you’re not quite sure if it’s wishful thinking on your part but there’s a touch of disappointment evident in his eyes.
“I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to-”
“Shut up,” He grumbles, already reaching for his boots. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” He jams his foot inside what look to be virtually unused snow boots. “What the fuck do people do around here anyway?” You think about it.
“Hike?” You offer. “During the summer there’s more, you could kayak in a lake or something.” He nods, shoving his hands so hard into his pocket that you think you hear the seams rip. He walks like that, next to you down the hill to your cottage.
“Why the fuck do you live out here alone?” He asks, studying you. “Isn’t it boring?” You sigh.
“I’m um, I’ve got friends here. I decided I don’t wanna do the rat race, you know, the competitive college and career thing, I want,” you swallow, wondering if the drink was stronger than you thought. “I want to be happy.” You say finally and he lifts his head, cocking his head at you. “Sometimes that’s hard, I guess. For some of us.”
“Yeah.” He says quietly. “I get it.” You stomp your boots on the porch.
“I’m having a couple people over this weekend, if you want to come?” He balks and you backtrack. “It’s just a few people. Not even enough to have a real party.”
“Fine.” He says, and then pauses. “Thanks. For the car.”
“Yeah.” You shrug. “No worries. That’s sort of how it is out here, winters are hard. We gotta help each other out.” He looks at you like he’s got something else to say but he just turns and walks back up the hill.
____
“Mornin’ Levi,” you shoot him a sunny grin, one hip popped as you stand, pen to paper, ready to take his order.
“Good Morning.” He says begrudgingly engaging in small talk. “I’ll have a large tea, don’t oversteep it, and,” He barely glances at the menu. “The barley soup.” You nod.
“That’ll keep ya warm on a day like today.” You glance at the snow covered street, at the windows covered in condensation. “It’s freezing.” He grunts his agreement, and and you see where his sports car is parked at the end of the street. Today, he doesn’t leave after lunch, taking a laptop out and setting it on the table, drinking several teas and after the soup eating two sandwiches, so lost in his own world he barely looks up when you clear the table. You clear your throat softly several hours later and he looks up.
“We’re closing, Levi.” You say softly. He nods, pressing his lips together.
“Do you,” it looks like it physically pains him to get the words out, but he gets it out anyway. “Do you want a ride home?” You blink at him.
“Oh, yeah,” your smile lights up his entire chest, “Definitely, thanks Levi.” He scrunches his face up, wondering why you insist on saying his name like that, Levi, Levi, Levi, here’s your sandwich, Levi, are you finished with that, Levi, we’re closing, Levi. He presses his lips together while you gather your things, watches you wind a scarf around your neck. Levi. His mother’s only legacy, a name that was at best, outdated, and at worst ugly. He catches his own reflection in the window of the cafe, and then glances at you again, laughing with your clumsy co-worker, tucking your jeans into your worn boots.
He feels the urge to leave. To run. To walk out into the street and not look back, feels the anxiety that seized him so violently in D.C. that he thought he was having a heart attack, only to be told by doctors at the hospital that what he thought was the violent ending of his life, was something emotional. Soft. A panic attack. Who has panic attacks? not soldiers , he thought, not brave people. But once they started, they only got worse, until eventually he couldn’t even make it to his own office without the violent involuntary hyperventilation.
“It’s alright,” Erwin had said to him. “Take time. Take as long as you need.” It’s nearly enough to bring the hot sting of humiliation to his eyes.
“You’ve given me too much.” Levi says angrily. “You can’t-”
“I’m not just your boss, Levi.” Erwin sits heavily in his chair. “I’m a person who cares for you.” Levi swallows. “Take the time. I’ve got a place you can stay, if you want to get away from the city for a bit.”
“I have, I have a duty-”
“You’re useless to this country if you can’t function.” Erwin says, blue eyes flashing, “I need you. So take care of yourself and come back. There will be things to do when you get back.” He gestures to the globe next to his desk. “There will always be things to do.” Levi nods, wishing he had the words that come to him much later, alone in his car on the drive up to Erwin’s family home. That’s the problem. He wants to say. That it never stops.
“Levi,” you’re in front of him, pulling him out of the back of his head. He swallows. “Whatcha thinking about?” He shrugs.
“Work.”
“Oh,” He opens the door for you and the two of you step out into the cold. “Do you like your job?” Does he? Levi hadn't considered this in many years. He thinks about it now.
“It’s a job.” He shrugs. “I work with some good people.”
“That’s nice.” He opens the car door for you, moving so quickly you barely see him do it. “Oh thanks, Levi.” He groans out loud and you cock your head at him.
“I,” he presses his lips together, aware that he’s holding you hostage in the blistering cold, “Why do you keep saying my name like that?”
“Like what?” You shiver.
“Like, Levi ,” he does an imitation of you and you laugh lightly. “Like you say it every time you talk to me.”
“I guess I just like the way it sounds,” you sit in the seat and he closes the door quickly, running around the car to rejoin you. “It’s got nice music to it. No hard consonants. I like it.”
“Huh.” His car hums to life.
“Do you want to um, to come over, for dinner?” You say, and he looks at you sharply. “I mean cooking for one is kind of lame.” He presses his lips together.
“I’ve been eating frozen meals.” He admits, and you giggle. “It’s fucking depressing to eat alone all the time.”
“Right so, come over.” You say again and he sighs.
“Do you,” he presses, and then catches himself before he imposes, “You don’t have to, because you feel badly.”
“I’m inviting you for dinner because I want to.” You say firmly. “I’m alone too, you know.” He nods, pressing his lips together. He parks the car in your driveway, carefully. Levi examines your home carefully, framed drawings from your niece on the wall, comfortable couches covered in blankets, bookshelves, a screened in porch at the back of the house.
“I have beer, um, and seltzer?” You offer. Levi doesn’t answer right away, struck by how lived in this space is. The pile of shoes at the door, the coat on the chair, the spot on the couch you clearly always sat in to watch tv still a little wrinkled. He swallows.
“Beer.” You hand him a glass bottle, and he opens it. He glances at the dinner table but you take your beer and sit on the couch, beckoning him to join you. He manages not to take the furthest possible seat from you, manages to keep his eyes from the way you fold your legs underneath you, the way you tuck a pillow into your chest. A car door slams down the street and he jumps viscerally, hand flying to his shoulder where his gun would be in it’s holster, heart racing.
“You alright?” You ask, the bell tone of your voice cutting through the silence. He takes a shaky breath, remembering the embarrassing grounding exercises his therapist had taught him. “Levi,” and now all that he can notice is you, the length of your eyelashes, the curve of your jaw, the way your hands are folded in your lap. He takes a risk, feels like Erwin, making a gamble.
“What if I asked you to come sit here?” He glances at the couch next to him. “What would you say?” He watches you consider, burning in agony.
“I could say yes.” You respond, after the longest minute of Levi's life. “What if I have questions first?” He shrugs.
“I’ll answer them, but you have to answer them too.” He sips his beer and watches your face, your beautifully expressive face, as you think through things, he watches the emotions push and pull you.
“Why are you here?”
“Forced sabbatical.” He grunts, and sees on your face it’s not enough for you, and reveals just a little more. “I always thought, for sure, right, that I was doing the right thing. I trusted the people giving me orders and I,” he takes a sip of the beer, it’s cool temperature calming him, grounding him. “And I’m not sure I do anymore.” You nod. “Why are you here?”
“I um,” You look down at your hands. “I couldn’t do college. I wanted to, but I couldn’t handle it. Just too um, sick I guess. Too low functioning.” He nods. “Other people could stay up all night, they could work hard and not, not lose their minds and their happiness. I just couldn’t see myself doing it.”
“I didn’t go to school.” Levi offers, and you laugh, taking a sip of your beer.
“It’s a choice I feel good about.” You say firmly. “It was my choice.” He nods.
“Any other questions?” You shake your head and scoot across the couch, leaning against him as he slips an arm around your waist. He sighs, feeling a visceral kind of relief at your touch. Your body is so warm, so soft, you feel so close to him, that his heart rate slows. You sigh, and his hand slips, almost accidentally, under your shirt where it’s riding up on your waist, his cool fingers on your warm skin. You feel him tense, and then decide to own it when you snuggle into his chest. “I’m going to put the beer on the table.” He says, softly, and you know what he means, know what he’s asking.
“Yeah.” You look up at him. “Good.” He sets it on the table and then turns back to face you, his lips inches from yours, holding eye contact. He makes you close the distance between you, crashing your lips against his, but from his firm hold on your waist you guess that’s the last decision you’ll be making. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt but he stops you, wanting, needing to see you, to really see you without the layers of clothing, tossing your sweater on a nearby chair.
“Fuck,” he breathes, as your lips move down his jaw, burning on his skin, “Let me-” He pushes your clumsy hands away and tugs his shirt over his head, letting it crumple on the floor with uncharacteristic carelessness. You lie down, he cups your face with one hand, slotting a thigh between yours and nearly laughing when he feels you grind against it. “Easy.” He mutters.
“I want-” You start.
“I know what you want.” He half snaps, half gloats. “I’ll tell you when you can have it.” He palms your breasts, burying his face between them and groaning at the soft warmth he finds, pulling them out of your bra. His mouth closes on one of your nipples, pulling the most beautiful hushed gasp from your lips, and he needs to hear that sounds again, would do anything to hear it again, and you oblige, you sweet fucking thing, moaning again when pinches and pulls at them, and presses his thigh to your clothed cunt.
“Oh,” you sigh, feeling him kiss down your stomach, peeling your jeans down, tugging them out of his way, kissing the inside of your hips, delighting in the softness he finds in your thighs, leaving little bruising kisses on the inside of them. There’s something so genuinely warm about your body, something golden and comforting about the energy you exude, beautiful and innocent, he nearly loses all composure when you breathe his name, a prayer, a hymn. “Levi,” you moan, and he gets it, gets why you say it all the time, understands why you’d repeat it at the end of every sentence, it was to prepare him for this, so that he didn’t lose his mind when you’d do this. “Levi,” you say again, when he presses a kiss to the top of your panties, removing them at a maddeningly slow pace, “Please,” you whimper, “Please, I want you so-”
“I know,” he says sharply, “Be patient, or I won’t give it to you.” You bite down hard on your lower lip, resisting the urge to grind your hips against him, but you’re rewarded for your stillness when he slips a single finger inside you, moving your panties to the side and starting to kiss gently at your clit.
“Oh, oh my god,” it’s like the breath has been robbed from your lungs, he growls into you,
“Taste so good.” He picks up the pace, wanting more music, more sound from you.
“Levi,” you moan again, “Levi, Levi, right-”
“Mhm,” he says, watching you fall apart, adding another finger, certain he’s got you right where he wants you, and he’s reminded of the pleasure of human connection, of the warmth of trust, of the way it felt to give to someone so completely like this.
“I’m gonna, gonna,” your back arches up off the sofa, drowning in pleasure as the roughness of his tongue flicks along the softest parts of your body, “Please I-”
“Ask me.” He demands, lifting his face from you, grinding his thumb into your clit, watching you fall apart, unable to sit still.
“Please, please can I cum, Levi I need to,” you beg, shameless, breathless, beautiful, “Please, please, please-”
“Go ahead.” He orders and watches the pleasure wrack your body, the way you tense and relax as you vault over the cliff of your climax. “Shit,” he fumbles with his belt buckle, achingly hard in his pants, “Do you have, do you have a condom?” You blink back to reality.
“I uh,” You rub your eyes, “I don’t.” He pauses, teeth sinking into his lip for a moment before digging through his wallet and pulling one out, checking the expiration date.
“Lucky you.” He says coolly, standing and stepping out of his pants. “What was your plan, if I didn’t have one, just out of curiosity?” You give him a mischievous smile.
“I uh, I guess we would have rolled the dice.”
“Irresponsible.” He mutters, pinning your wrists over your head, climbing back on top of you, “You just seduce men with that sweet fucking voice,” he snaps, pushing the end of his cock inside you, “And roll the dice, huh?” Your mouth drops open.
“I-” He cuts you off by cupping your face gently, stroking your cheek for a moment as he commits' every part of this moment to memory.
“I'm teasing.” He mutters. “Fuck, oh my god.” He pushes a little deeper inside you and you let out a little whimper, he’s bigger than you’d expected, “Shh,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Shut up and take it.” You moan out loud then and he rolls his eyes at you before pulling back and rolling his hips against yours in earnest, “Feel so good,” he grunts, “Oh my fucking god.” You’re making little mewls that you can’t hold back, feeling every inch of him pushing in and out of you, dragging against your walls.
“Levi,” you gasp, and that seems to placate him a little, “Levi,” your back arches, and he leans down to kiss his name off your lips, his name, short and ugly, in your mouth, sounds like a miracle, feels like a sunbeam. “Levi,”
“Yeah?” He groans.
“L-levi,” you squirm against his hold but he’s so strong it’s like pulling on iron. “Levi,” you choke out, and feel him start to rub at your clit with his free hand. “Oh, oh my god, don’t stop, don’t-”
“So good,” he growls, “So good for me, cum for me again, you can do it.”
“I,” you buck your hips against his and he scowls. “I’m so close.”
“You can do it,” he orders sharply, “Cum for me, I wanna see that shit, cum for me and moan my name again.” You obey, your second orgasm hits you harder, little tears forming in your eyes, the pleasure overwhelming as he chases his own high, cumming deep inside you with a loud groan. He flops on the couch next to you, holding your soft body close to his own, kissing the top of your head. You feel his touch on your back, he holds you tightly, tracing feather light patterns on your skin.
“Levi.” You sigh deeply, and he feels your warmth, praying he’s not leeching off of you, that it’ll spread between your bodies, as he grabs a throw blanket and tucks it around you, grumpily burning his face in your neck.
“I like my name better in your mouth.” He mutters. You nod, relaxing a little.
“Stay for a bit.” You ask, it’s a gentle plea. Levi rolls his eyes.
“As if you’re getting rid of me now.”